


Improving His Taste

by waywardrose



Category: Girls (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fights, Making Out, Post-Episode: s05e10 I Love You Baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrose/pseuds/waywardrose
Summary: You were so sick of Adam Sackler and his tempestuous girlfriends.
Relationships: Adam Sackler/Reader, Jessa Johansson/Adam Sackler
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	Improving His Taste

**Author's Note:**

> For my mailing list's freebie winner, murmurofbees on Tumblr. Thank you for the prompt, E!

The insanity had finally quieted down. Yesterday you thought there'd been a murder next door. There'd been yelling and cursing and glass breaking and the crashing of... Fuck, you didn't know what. Furniture? Bodies? That part of the second floor?

You'd been tempted to call the police.

You were so sick of Adam Sackler and his tempestuous girlfriends. You missed Ray. He'd been calm. Quiet. One time he'd brought you the paper because there'd been an article featuring an interview with one of your favorite authors. He actually had retained that from one conversation on the front stoop.

But not Adam Sackler. That asshole.

Adam slammed doors and bellowed obscenities. You didn't know why anyone put up with his bullshit. Oh sure, Adam was handsome, but that only went so far. You didn't understand the appeal.

_What could he do, huh?_ you mentally asked as you stirred the simmering stew in the crockpot. You made a face. _Oh, he's an actor! Oh, he's so talented!_

"For fuck's sake, he was the face of Torpica!" you hissed.

Just as you tapped off the big stirring spoon on the edge of the bowl, thunderous knocking came from the apartment door. It startled you so badly, you dropped the spoon. It landed on the counter, flecks of gravy splattering all over.

With a sigh, you left it for later and answered the door.

On the other side stood Adam Sackler. Speak of the vulgar devil. He held a fruit basket—of all things. It was wrapped in green netting, topped with a large red ribbon.

"Sorry about the noise yesterday," he stated before shoving it at you.

Ignoring the basket, you said, "You're lucky no one called the cops."

"Yeah." He snorted. "But what's one more arrest on my record?"

You blinked. "Did you do something that would warrant an arrest?"

"No! Of course not." He lowered the fruit basket a touch. "I mean— It's a long story."

"I'm sure it involves your exes."

You snatch the fruit basket from him. It was heavy. The basket itself was sturdy. It was a nice gift. The fruit looked unblemished. There was a little box of cookies, some crackers, a wedge of cheese, and a petite bag of mixed nuts.

"Two of them, actually," he said.

"Might want to examine that next therapy session."

His face scrunched up. "I don't go to therapy."

"How not surprising."

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?"

"How many people in this building have you given fruit baskets to?"

"Just you."

_"Ha!"_ You shook your head and held up the basket. "Everyone you share a wall or a floor with deserves one of these!"

"Okay."

"I mean it. You scared the shit outta me! I can't imagine what the guy on the first floor thinks!"

"You're right!"

"Goddamn right, I'm right!"

_"Okay, Jesus!"_ He threw his arms out. "It won't happen again!"

_"Good!_ Get better taste in partners, too! You deserve better!" You white-knuckle gripped the apartment door. "And thank you!"

You flung the door closed and then hugged the basket to your chest.

"You're welcome!" he called through the door.

You walked the basket to the kitchen and laughed when you remembered there was gravy on the counter.

* * *

The next evening there was a canvas shopping bag hooked on the knob of your apartment door. You looped it over your arm before letting yourself in. After setting everything on the cafe table in the kitchen, you examined the bag.

It was from a tea shop. Inside was a small envelope and three metal containers. You pulled the card out to read:

> _Thought these might go with the fruit. Hope to see you around._
> 
> _-Adam_

The teas were lovely: chamomile-green, snowberry-black, and a good fortune pu-erh.

Maybe Adam Sackler wasn't a complete asshole.

* * *

That charitable thought had come too soon.

Two afternoons later, another quarrel in Adam's apartment ruined your peace. You waited for the telltale smashing of breakables, but it never came. There were only the raised voices of Adam and his girlfriend.

You'd seen the girlfriend in passing. She was gorgeous with long blonde hair and funky tattoos. She seemed perfect for him. You'd heard her moan once.

You tip-toed to the shared wall, listening to them.

"—you ruined everything, Adam!" she cried. _"Everything!_ You came between us!"

"I didn't—"

"But you did! You! Did! I've lost everything _because of you!"_

"Where're you going?!"

"I'm going to Shosh's. _Again!"_

"You don't have to fucking go!"

"Yes, I do! I really, really do."

"Gimme that! You're not—"

It was silent for a beat. You had to assume he'd taken something from her. Or they were grappling for something.

"Get your fucking hands off my shit!" she shrieked. "I'm leaving!"

"What about school, huh?"

"I'll figure something out."

Multiple feet stomped away. As quietly as you could, you rushed to your apartment door. Out in the hallway, they continued:

"I don't need this!" she said, sounding exhausted and fed-up. "I don't want this... I _never_ wanted this."

"That's a lie, and we both know it," he spat.

"Whatever, I'm done."

He quickly returned, "We're not done!"

"Goodbye, Adam."

"Jessa! _No!_ Get back here!" he yelled.

A moment later, he growled _"fuck"_ and slammed his apartment door.

* * *

It had been quiet for almost a week. You debated about contacting the authorities or Guinness World Records.

You felt bad for Adam, though. Jessa—and you assumed she was an ex now—had said some harsh things. The previous fight had been vicious, too. You couldn't imagine yelling and destroying things like they had. They must've been passionate about each other to lose all rationality.

However, break-ups were shitty for everyone.

You'd had your fair share. Friends had helped you through. You could recall each kindness someone had afforded you when you'd felt so low. Though you weren't friends with Adam, per se, you could still be kind.

So, you went to Wegmans and bought a raspberry scone mix. He seemed like a raspberry guy. Normally, you'd bake from scratch, but you hadn't had the supplies in months. A mix was easy and guaranteed to come out well.

And they did. You were tempted to keep them for yourself, but that wouldn't really be a kind gesture then. You arranged the warm scones on a plate and went to Adam's door.

You knocked and waited for so long, you began to think no one was home.

When he opened the door, he said nothing. He stared at you, and you stared back. He was a greasy-haired wreck. His clothes sagged and looked about as tired as he did.

"Hey," you murmured. "I... I made you scones."

"I could smell them."

"They're raspberry."

You offered the plate. He put his hands under yours and brightened.

"Oh, they're warm," he commented as he eased the plate from your hands.

"Just out of the oven."

"Thank you." He looked over his broad shoulder. "I would invite you in..."

You peeked around him to see broken things everywhere. It was so much chaos, your brain couldn't process it all. There was a pile of broken glass by his bare feet.

"No," you insisted. "No, it's okay. Just, uh... Just return the plate when you're done."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ for the tea."

"Tea?" He blinked and then grinned. "Yeah, the tea! You're welcome."

"If you feel up to it—" You thumbed behind you. "I could put water on to boil."

He grimaced. "Raincheck on that. I stink."

You wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but maybe it did to him. Instead, you nodded and backed off.

"Well, you know where to find me," you said. "My door's always open—if you need anything."

"Thanks," he replied, clutching the plate.

You returned to your apartment, feeling strangely disappointed. You had the notion it wasn't for the right reasons. Though, if asked what those reasons should be, you wouldn't be able to identify them.

* * *

Around noon on Saturday, you were interrupted in the middle of your second bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch by a jaunty knock on your apartment door.

You tied your robe's belt around your waist and opened the door to see a sweaty Adam. His gray t-shirt and dusty jeans clung to his body. Dark hair tucked behind flushed ears. He smiled at you, dazzling as the sun. You couldn't help but smile back.

"Hi," he began and pushed the borrowed plate at you. "The scones were great."

You took the plate with a grin. "I'm glad."

"I washed the plate."

Both of you nodded, and you said, "Cool."

"I didn't want to accidentally incorporate it in with mine."

"Thanks."

"Didn't want it to get broken, either."

You cocked your head. "How would that happen?"

You wondered if Jessa was back for another round.

"I'm cleaning up," he stated. "Throwing out the broken shit."

"Good! I was getting worried about you living in a war zone in there."

He huffed a laugh. "No war zone. Just a fucking mess."

"Do— Do you need help?"

You wanted to kick yourself for volunteering. There were things that needed doing, like laundry and cleaning the bathroom and returning that book to the library.

"No— Thanks— Only got one set of gloves." He pulled a pair of dirty leather work gloves from his back pocket. "I'm almost done, anyway."

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Okay, good— _yeah."_

"Hey, I was thinking—would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Like tonight?"

"Sure." He shrugged. "I could order some take-out."

"I'll host," you wryly offered.

His eyes twinkled as he replied, "Yeah, that'll be good. You like Thai?"

"Thai's good," you said with a nod.

"Cool, I know a good place." He stepped back. "See you at seven?"

"Seven, it is."

* * *

Adam arrived late, but with a big take-out bag of Thai food. It was easy to forgive him. He rolled up the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt before helping you dish out green curry, lemongrass chicken, and seaweed salad.

You brewed two mugs of the good fortune pu-erh while he set the kitchen table.

During dinner, he told you about an indie film he was starring in. It was about a guy from Brighton Beach who was becoming a hitman to pay for his mother's cancer treatments. He said the Ukrainian director—and writer—was having him over-explain everything.

He exclaimed, "It's all very _frustrate!"_

"Does director listen?" you asked in a Russian accent, butchering it horribly.

_"Nyet!_ Explain! Explain! _Tell story!"_

He leaned away from the table and threw his head back with a dramatic groan. The candle on the table flickered golden light over his throat. He had a few beauty marks on his neck, and you contemplated how many people had kissed them.

When he sat up, he met your eyes. You looked at his striking face a beat too long before you cleared your throat.

"Would you like some wine?" you offered. "I have a rosé in the fridge."

"Yeah, wine's okay."

As you moved around the kitchen, you felt Adam's gaze on you. It made you aware, but not nervous. Before you could shuffle over to put away the corkscrew, he was next to you. He moved like a cat, which was not something you expected. Especially considering the way he stomped around most times.

He put a hand on the small of your back. You stared at him, noticing his spice-swollen lips and the way his hair shone in the crummy light over the sink. His eyes glinted, unexpectedly beautiful.

He softly said, "Tell me I'm reading this right."

Breathless, you confessed, "I don't think you're reading it wrong."

He swooped in to kiss you. His plush lips tasted of herbs. You ran a hand up his chest to touch his jaw. In reply, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss as he pulled you flush to him.

His tongue peeked out to tease your bottom lip. You leaned against him, kissing him back and tasting the lemongrass on his tongue. He made this hungry little sound as you clutched at him and ran your fingers through his hair.

You broke the kiss to whisper, "Wanna move this to the couch?"

"Hell yes," he growled and lifted you right off the floor.

You laughed in shock and clung to him. He smiled at you—something genuine yet delicate in his expression. You hugged him, burying your nose behind his ear. He smelled of fresh soap and rosemary shampoo.

After lowering you both to the couch, he said, "I think I've improved my taste in partners."

You hummed. "I'm not sure _I_ have, though."

Adam playfully threatened, "Oh, you're gonna get it."

He crowded you against the throw pillows in the corner of the couch to kiss you and hold you tight. You wrapped your arms behind his neck and hooked a leg over his hip, forgetting about dinner and the wine getting warm on the counter.

As he slid his palm up your thigh, you understood his appeal now. And you hoped to understand more as the evening continued...

**Author's Note:**

> [mailing list](https://mailchi.mp/d2dc37cb5879/writingml) | [tumblr](https://the-wayward-rose.tumblr.com/)


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